Thursday, August 05, 2010

THE RELOCATION CHRONICLES, CHAPTER FIVE: SAVE THE DATE (PLEASE!)

So despite my conviction NOT to date at all in LA, I actually met someone a few days ago. But before you all throw me an ecstasy-laden rager, stop swooning: it's going nowhere.

Earlier this week I went to Starbucks for one of their overly-priced, overly-buttered croissants. I had to tell them my name when I gave my order and while I was waiting some guy came up to me and inquired after my nationality. It turns out he was dead-on, but it's not that tough to figure out anyway because I guess my first name sounds pretty ethnic. I know all of four people here, however, so I figured, "Fuck it." Plus he had a Yankees hat on, and when I brought up New York City, he said he had lived there for a while. Too bad he wasn't that cute. I'm not saying he was a hunchback or anything, but TOTALLY not my type, and he looked kind of old. Like, at least 35.

We had a short conversation in which the subject of my job-hunting came up, and he mentioned that he might know people in the field that I was looking into. Might? You either do, or you don't. I recognized this shameless attempt to get my contact info, but I wasn't ruling anything out. I gave him my email address, but apparently that wasn't enough for him, and he managed to finagle my cell number, too. He said he would see what he could do, and I grabbed my buttery goodness (that's what she said) and left. BTW, after almost everything I said he responded with a creepy, drawn-out "I like it!" He sounded like Robert DeNiro in Cape Fear right before he tried to bone Juliette Lewis, and it got seriously annoying.

He texted me the day after and asked if I wanted to go out for a drink. Dude- not during SHARK WEEK! Seriously, I would have gone if I found him the least bit attractive, but I was still contemplating whether or not I was interested enough to see if he had any real connections. I totally lied and told him I had plans, but maybe I could do tomorrow. An hour later, he finally got back to me and told me he would "check his schedule." Haha, I know how the game is played. I knew I'd be going out the next night.

My friends all told me to do this date just so I could write about it. Since I already didn't care about this clown I decided that I would start out with my "eighth date personality"- you know, when you're no longer at the "audition" phase and you can just let it all hang out? I was on the phone with one of my girlfriends and she was like, "What if it backfires and he like, falls in love with you?" Well, too bad for him. That's his fucking problem.

So the next day I'm fucking around on Urban Dictionary when he called me and asked if I "felt like lunch." Yeah, but not with you. I agreed since I was kind of hungry anyway. He picked me up almost exactly at 1:30 and we got to the cafe. I was already taking mental notes about which heinous deductables to get him on later. Normally I'm really low-maintenance and don't care about shit like this, but I admit that I was just looking for excuses at this point.

There was one table outside, so he offered to wait for our food while I saved the seats. We both ordered an ice water, and he came back with just his (minus points). I did notice that he had really good arms, but did I really want those arms holding me down over an extended period of time? No, I did not.

While we waited nine centuries for our (horrible) food, the awkward conversation went like this:

LEX LOSER: So, how old are you? (FAIL!)

ME: I'm actually 14. But the meth has aged me considerably.

LL: *series of random, morse-code like blinks*

ME: No, seriously. I'm clean.

I did wind up revealing my actual age, and he managed to partially redeem himself by telling me that he initially thought that I was 21 (points go back up!), but then he told me he had just turned 36. EW! Pedophile! Kind of. "So you're a Cancer?" I asked. "Yeah," he said. "Like your last 3 exes?" Um, what? And no, not really. I said yes anyway, though. Why the fuck not?

So after we jumped that hurdle and our food finally arrived, the job subject came back up. "You could model," he suggested. "Why don't you do that?" I know where this is going. There is no way in Miley Cyrus Sing-Along Hell that I'm coming down to your leaky-ass basement with a broken tripod that your cousin set up after he got out of prison. Besides, I told him, "I like food and eating too much." "I can tell. You're making short work of that salmon plate."

What. The fuck.

Of course this was punctuated by an arm grab. Dude, you are NOT permitted to touch me yet. And if you say "I like it" one more time I'm going to give you something you're not going to like. Perhaps a fork to the face?

So by this time I had decided to completely freak this guy out. I brought out my Wikipedia-worthy comic book knowledge and watched his eyes glaze over. Then the topic turned to sports.

LL: "So you like the Mets and the Yankees?"

ME: "No, I hate the Yankees. I told you that already."

LL: "Oh, yeah. You did. But you know a lot about them."

ME: "I know."

LL: "What about Jason Giambi? Is he good?"

ME: "He's not with the Yankees anymore."

LL: "He's not?"

ME: "He's on the Rockies now. Dude, you walk around in a Yankees hat. You should get on that."

On the car ride home I realized I had one last rifle in my arsenal. We happened to pass a restaurant where I got violently ill last year, and I pointed it out to him. Picture me talking about two whole days of puking, only add more fuel to that fire. I didn't go into graphic detail or anything, but you get the point. I had high hopes for the end of the conversation until his response: "I like it!" Are you fucking kidding me?

After he pulled into my driveway, I did thank him for lunch, and he said he would text me later this week. I said I had a bunch of stuff to do, and he told me he would once again "check his schedule." I told him I had a lot of my friends coming with me anyway, and he replied, "that's cool, I'll see where I am and I'll let you know in a couple of days."

Shit.

I hope he's not into me after I was a total bitch that pulled out a vomit story. I mean, I know I'm a total stunner, but I'm not doing Maxim covers or anything. Maybe he just gets turned on by puking. I will be SO relieved if I never hear from this tool again.

This one time I saw this Discovery Channel special on these worms that segregate their bodies into two parts and then procreate by putting themselves back together. I could totally get down with that.

7 comments:

I can't believe you got in a car with him. Creepy 36 year old, bandwagon Yankees fan (there is a circle of hell dedicated just for them) who sounds like Robert De Niro in cape fear? You are braver than i thought. He could have been some seedy serial killer or something.

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Who Is This Whackjob?

I'm a native New Yorker, so my first language is Brooklynese, with a smattering of colloquial English. I work in analytical research for film production, so I get to create a lot of spreadsheets and Word documents, which is basically my sexual chocolate (office supplies make me feel things).
I'm a total sci-fi and comic book geek and a sports fanatic, so don't get too offended if I yell at you for not hyphenating Spider-Man. My friends all laugh at me, but they've pretty much fostered this obsession by adding to my "impressive" collection of robots and action figures. People often ask if I actually have girl parts, even though I'm pretty sure my parents have raised me as a chick all my life.
Also, if Ryan Gosling ever happens to accidentally stumble upon my posts I will probably be arrested. Oh haaaai.